


Day 7: My Angel is the Centerfold

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1970s, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Action/Adventure, Adventures in History, Alternate History, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff and Angst, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Historical, Humor, M/M, Plot, Plotty, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: Aziraphale huffs. “I mean,” he says angrily, “that he took pictures of me. In this form. Naked. On the beach. In the buff, as they say.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 6
Kudos: 118





	Day 7: My Angel is the Centerfold

**Author's Note:**

> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading (and because I connected all the stories and should have done it this way to begin with): [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)

May 12, 1971, 3 AM

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, “I think… I rather think I have made a very big mistake.”

Crowley blinks sleepily and looks at the clock in his bedroom. 3 am. “Angel, it’s the middle of the night.” He makes a noise of disgust. 

Aziraphale huffs over the wire. “You don’t need sleep.”

“I told you, once you start, you get accustomed to it,” Crowley sighs. He rubs a hand over his face. “What’s so important that you needed to wake me up in the middle of the night? Did you realize that you’ve forgotten to do your taxes again?” 

“No, no, it’s not that. I learned my lesson and I have it marked very clearly in my calendar now. No, it’s . . I’m still in Saint Tropez, and. . . I think I messed things up very badly.”

Crowley takes a second to process this. “What do you mean?” he says slowly. He tries to remember what his assignment in Saint-Tropez was. He’d received it ages ago, and he’d been tired after a very long trip to the USSR, which had been no bloody fun at all, even with the vodka. So when Aziraphale had clapped his hands and said he’s love a beach holiday, Crowley had been more than happy to let him have it so he could stay home, drink wine, watch telly, and listen to the radio. He regrets that choice now. 

“Look, I . . . I think you should come here. I can’t fix this on my own, and, well . . .it’s rather a long story.” 

This is not good. “Angel, what did you do?” 

“I’ll tell you all about it when you get here. Now let me give you my hotel address. You’ll need to come in the back way, there’s a lot of reporters-”

Crowley stands up, snaps his fingers and finds himself standing in front of Aziraphale. He’s still wearing his pajamas, black satin with red piping. “Oh!” Aziraphale is startled. “I hate it when you do that. You need to warn me, dear! What if there were humans here?” 

Crowley is . . . also startled. Aziraphale has taken a female form and is dressed in only a silk tartan robe. His hair is half done up, piled high on his head and spilling down his back. Ringlets curl around his face, which is clean of makeup. His complexion, normally so pale and creamy, has become a bit darker in his weeks in the sun. The result is that his eyes stand out more blue than ever, and his hair looks almost white. The robe does nothing to hide the curves underneath. He looks absolutely stunning. 

“Humans,” Crowley says stupidly, trying desperately to make his brain restart. “What humans?” 

“Bianca, or, Heaven help me, Mick Jagger!” Aziraphale frets. He rolls his eyes and tightens the belt of his robe. 

Oh yeah, Mick Jagger. Now Crowley remembers the assignment. And the other reason he’d let Aziraphale have it. He’s run into Mick before, several times. The last time they’d gotten drunk in a bar together and the next thing Crowley knew “Sympathy for the Devil” was on the top ten list. He’d gotten a note from Hell thanking him for his service, but asking him to please lay low for a while, because it wouldn’t do to remind people that demons were actually literally here on Earth with them. Satan had this grand plan to convince people he didn’t exist. Crowley thought it was bollocks, but laying low meant that he did less work, so you didn’t have to ask him twice. 

Although, if he had known that Aziraphale was going to parade around Mick Jagger looking like that. . . maybe he should have done this one. “Look, Aziraphale, I know Mick, run into him a bunch of times in the past. Whatever you think you’ve messed up, I can probably fix it. All you had to do was to get him to make Bianca sign a pre-nup, yeah? Hell probably thought I could just ring him up on the phone and ask. They think he’s my best friend after he wrote that song.”

Aziraphale looks at him strangely. “Is he your best friend?” Then, “Mick Jagger wrote a song about you?” 

“Nevermind, Angel, it’s not important. Just tell me what’s got you in such a tizzy at three o’clock in the bloody morning.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, when there was a knock on the door. His eyes went wide. Crowley frowns. “Who-”

“Zira?” a female voice calls out. There’s another knock. “Zira, you’re not in bed yet, are you?” 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and crosses to the door. He gives Crowley a warning look and opens it a fraction. Bianca Perez bursts in. Her dark hair is pulled into a topknot, and she is also devoid of makeup. She’s wearing a silk nightgown with a diaphanous robe tossed over her shoulders. She clasps her hand over her belly as she walks into the room like she does this all the time. “Zira, I can’t sleep!” she wails. “I don’t know if I can go through with this, what about the baby?” She stops suddenly, seeing Crowley sitting on the bed, wearing his pajamas. He gives her a smile and lifts a hand up, waggling his fingers at her. 

“Oh, Zira, I did not realize you had . . . company,” she says, looking from Crowley to Aziraphale and back again. “I thought. . . . I mean, after what you said this afternoon. . .” 

Aziraphale jumps in. “Bianca,” he says, softly, putting an arm around her shoulders. “This is my friend Anthony.” Aziraphale shuts the door behind them, leading Bianca inside. He sits her down in the chair by the telephone. 

“Oh,” Bianca says knowingly. She crosses her legs and her eyes wander over Crowley’s form, sizing him up. Crowley wonders what exactly Bianca thinks she knows about Zira’s friend Anthony. Whatever it is, she has decided that not only can she continue her angst, but she has also immediately dismissed him as a threat. “Nice to meet you, Anthony.” 

Crowley nods. “Likewise.” 

“Zira and I became good friends this afternoon on the beach,” Bianca continues. “She is such a good listener.” 

“That he-- uh, yes, yes, excellent listener.” Crowley catches himself. “Zira does an excellent job listening.” 

Bianca arches one eyebrow at him, then turns back to Aziraphale. “Zira, I don’t know what to do. I love him so much, and I know he loves me, but this paperwork. . . “

Crowley sits back on the bed and crosses his legs, putting his hands behind his head as he watches Aziraphale work. He’s influenced a lot of humans in his time, and seen Zira do the same. He can appreciate watching a master take control of a situation. 

“Now, Bianca,” Aziraphale says. He kneels by the beautiful model’s side, taking her hand in his gently. “I don’t think Mick would ever not take care of your baby girl, no matter what legal paperwork you sign.”

“But Zira, it says he won’t have to provide for me, it’s not right, isn’t that a husband’s job? To provide for his wife?” 

“Mick may be a . . . a bit of a scoundrel, but I can’t imagine him shirking his duties to the mother of his child.” 

Bianca’s eyes are full of tears. “What if he leaves me?” She frowns in the most beautiful way possible. Models, Crowley thinks.

“Oh,” Aziraphale holds out his arms and Bianca falls into them, sobbing. “There, there, Bianca. Someone as beautiful as you?” 

Bianca sobs harder. “But I’m pregnant, I’m about to get really fat,” she wails. 

Aziraphale pats her back and gently runs his hand over the back of her head. “Oh, Bianca, that’s just silly. Look at you, you’re just-- you’re glowing!” he comforts. “And Mick-- I do really think he loves you, and remember, you’re having a Catholic ceremony, right?” 

“Yes,” comes the muffled reply. Sniffles. 

“So he’s making a promise to you not just in the eyes of the law, but in the eyes of God,” Aziraphale continues. He pulls back and pushes some hair from Bianca’s beautiful tear-stained face. “Besides, any man worth his salt would never treat the mother of his child terribly. And while Mick can be a bit of a . . . “ he pauses, looking for the right word. 

“Bad boy,” Crowley chips in from the bed. 

Bianca laughs. “You’re one to talk, Anthony.” What on earth have you been telling her about me, Aziraphale? Crowley wonders. 

“Yes, a . . . a bad boy, I do think that he is, underneath it all, a good person.”

“I know,” Bianca says. She sniffles again. “I know he is, Zira. Underneath all this, he is.” 

Aziraphale smiles kindly. He pats her face gently and pulls away to stand. “Of course he is. And this . . . this is just wedding day jitters, as they say.” 

“And hormones,” Crowley offers. 

Bianca’s brows furrow a bit, but only a bit, because too much frowning would make her look severe. “Your Anthony is right, Zira.” She pats her breasts. “I get these, but I also get the tears.” She sniffs again. Aziraphale pats his robe, and Crowley snaps his fingers, making a pocket and a handkerchief appear there. Aziraphale shoots him a grateful look, and hands the handkerchief over to Bianca, who takes it and dabs at her eyes. “Oh, maybe all I needed was a little cry, you know? I feel so much better.” 

Aziraphale holds out his hands and helps her stand. “I find that helpful myself at times,” he says. He begins to lead her towards the door. “But now, you and the baby both need some rest. You have a very exciting day ahead of you, and you need your beauty sleep.” He opens the door to the suite. 

Bianca stops at the threshold and looks at Aziraphale. “Do you really think it’s a girl, Zira?” 

Aziraphale smiles kindly at her. “We can only pray, my dear.” He rolls his eyes. “Could you imagine trying to be the mother of a little boy when Mick Jagger is his father? Good lord!” 

Bianca laughs loudly. “You are so funny, my friend. I am so glad that we met this afternoon.” She reaches over and gives Aziraphale a quick kiss on the cheek, before departing. 

Aziraphale shuts the door, and looks at Crowley. “See what I mean?” he insists. “I haven’t had a moment’s peace since we met!” 

Crowley shrugs. “Things seem to be going pretty well from where I’m sitting, Angel. She’s going to go on with the wedding and sign the prenup. And what did you have to do here?” Crowley scratches the side of his face idly. “Didn’t you say you had an assignment here as well?” 

“I had to get her to marry him, no matter what,” Aziraphale says. “For the sake of the baby girl she’s carrying.” He sighs. “And that’s not . . . that’s not very important right now, because I’ve made a huge colossal mistake, Crowley, and it’s going to get me killed.” He clenches his hands together. 

Crowley sits up, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “What are you talking about?” He looks around, puzzled. “I don’t think you're in any danger of being discorporated right now, angel.”

Aziraphale swallows hard and sits on the bed next to Crowley. Crowley does not think about the way Aziraphale’s robe is gaping slightly. “I didn’t say discorporated,” he says shakily. “I said killed. And I meant it. I’ve . . . I’ve done something very bad.”

“Very bad.” Crowley says flatly. All thoughts of Aziraphale’s robe and the soft skin underneath are banished. “What did you do?” 

“Yes, it . . . it happened this afternoon . . . yesterday afternoon, at the beach.” He looks over at Crowley nervously. “I . .. there are some pictures that were taken of me.” 

“Pictures.” 

“Yes, photographs. I was . . . well . . . it was very hard to get any time alone with either Mick or Bianca. They’ve brought seventy-five of their best friends and associates with them, and it doesn’t leave a lot of time for serendipitous encounters with strangers. And then there’s all the reporters out there trying to get in and get pictures. If I was going to get time alone with both of them, separately, I’d need a good reason to do so. And then I met Rick.” 

“Who’s Rick?”

“He’s a photographer for a magazine. He has been trying to get Bianca to let him do a shoot of her on the beach. And he told me that Bianca agreed if it was only Rick and Mick there, but that she absolutely had to have another woman there to help her feel comfortable, and it couldn’t be any of her friends because it’s a big secret.”

“And he asked you to be that woman?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, actually, he asked the barmaid in the hotel bar downstairs, who knew I had been looking for a way to get close to Mick and Bianca and I overheard and then the maid said that she couldn’t possibly because she had so much work to do, but I said I would be willing to step in, and he looked at me and said, ‘Oh, well, that’s good luck, I was going to ask you next’, and I gave the barmaid two thousand francs when Rick wasn’t looking.’” 

“This is quite the story, angel.”

“It gets worse,” Aziraphale says glumly. “It was a nude shoot.” 

Crowley shrugs. “All right, and what happened?”

“No, that’s what happened.”

Crowley purses his lips. “Angel, I hardly think either of our sides are going to kill us over a nude celebrity photo shoot.” 

“It wasn’t just the celebrities.”

Crowley laughs. “Do you mean the photographer took nude pictures of himself, too? Or did he ask you to take the pictures?” He smiles, picturing Aziraphale trying to work a camera, his pink cheeks flushed with embarrassment at all the naked people around him . . . 

Aziraphale huffs. “I mean,” he says angrily, “that he took pictures of me. In this form. Naked. On the beach. In the buff, as they say.” 

Crowley’s smile fades. “What?” Blood rushes through his ears. 

His face crumples. “Oh Crowley, it was all going so well! I’d gotten time to talk to Mick while Rick and Bianca were discussing some of the finer points of the shoot and framing.”

“And Mick convinced you to do a nude photo shoot?” Crowley wonders if he can make something horrible happen to Mick Jagger on his wedding day and get away with it in Hell. 

Aziraphale shakes his head. “No. First I convinced him that he should really get a pre-nuptial arrangement done. It was very easy, all I had to do was start talking about how women really like expensive things like perfumes and clothes, and how beautiful Bianca was. I didn’t say much at all, and then he said out of the blue, ‘I’m going to arrange a pre-nup’ and that was that.”

“And then he convinced you to do a nude photo shoot?” There are so many embarrassing things that can happen to a man on his wedding day, Crowley thinks. So many things that would take him down a peg or two. . . or four. 

“No, Mick didn’t say anything, he told Bianca that he had something to take care of before the wedding and said she’s be just fine in my hands, and then he left. Oh, she was ever so upset, Crowley. She said she wouldn’t go through with the shoot, and how could her fiance just leave her like this… she was in tears, sobbing. She said she was going to call the whole wedding off. So she and I had a little womanly chat, just like the one you saw, and at the end she says then she said she would marry him, but she said she would only go through with it if I was willing to do the photo shoot with her!”

“Why in all of the nine circles of Hell-”

“I don’t know!’ Aziraphale wails. “Somehow she got it into her head that if I was willing to do a nude photo shoot then she could be willing to marry Mick Jagger!” 

Crowley takes a deep breath and blows it out through his mouth. He has the distinct feeling there is something that Aziraphale is not telling him. “So she said she would marry Mick if you did a nude photo shoot?”

Aziraphale nods. “I don’t understand it, Crowley. She was talking about being brave and facing our fears like women . . .”

None of this makes any sense to Crowley. “Why didn’t you tell her no?” 

“Because then she wouldn’t marry Mick! My legitimate purpose here is to make sure that she marries him!! What am I going to do, Crowley? Heaven will do more than discorporate me!”

Crowley leans forward. “Yeah, sorry, about that-- why are they going to kill you again?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale stands and begins pacing. “Crowley, please think about this! There are going to be naked pictures of me in a magazine! Bianca did an interview with Rick afterwards. She told him all about how she did the photoshoot as a way to say goodbye to her unmarried life, and how she felt so conflicted about the whole thing until her friend Zira ame along. She is a celebrity! Heaven will find out!” 

“So what? You were doing what was needed in order to get the job done!”

“Crowley, that’s not-- they won’t understand!” He puts his hands on either side of his head. Curls spill loose from the chignon. “Do you not recall what happened to Adam and Eve after she ate the apple?” 

Crowley snorts. “I was there, angel, yes, they knew the difference between right and wrong-”

“And they knew that they were naked. And they were ashamed.” 

“But you’re an angel, it’s different-” 

“They won’t see it that way,” Aziraphale says quietly. He stops pacing, puts his hands at his sides. “You know that. You were an angel once. You know what the hierarchy of Heaven thinks about right and wrong.” 

Crowley sighs. He does. Heaven’s hierarchy is not forgiving, and they are not into bending the rules. Or even asking questions about them. There are no exceptions in their world. No special circumstances. This is one of the oldest arguments, all those years back. . . before the Garden, even. 

Crowley puts his chin in his palm, looking up at Aziraphale. “Do you think it’s wrong?” he asks. 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. When it was happening, I felt . . . well, it didn’t feel wrong. We were just sitting together in the surf and talking and laughing and feeling the sun on our skin, and it felt . . . freeing.” 

Crowley forgets to breathe for a moment, thinking about Aziraphale in all his beauty, sunlight shining on that blonde hair, a smile on his face. Thinking about Aziraphale being free to be . . . whatever he wanted. It’s a haunting image. 

“All right, angel, all right. I get it. So which room in this hotel belongs to Rick?”

TO BE CONTINUED ON DAY 21: DEVIL WITH THE BLUE DRESS ON

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Ineffable Valentines Tumblr Challenge. Mick and Bianca Jagger were married in Saint-Tropez in 1971, and he did make her sign a prenup. Everything else is my imagination. This is as close to RPF as I've ever gotten, and my sincere apologies to Mick Jagger and Bianca Jagger for dragging them into this sordid fictional mess. 
> 
> This piece will be continued on Day 21 of the challenge.


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